Today it is 3 years ago my oldest sister passed away at age 53 due to a very rare cancer of the blood vessels. She lived in Denver with her husband and my niece and nephew while the rest of us are on the east coast (with the exception of a brother in Dallas). We got a call on a Wednesday that she had a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop so she was admitted to the hospital and something was “off” with her liver and blood counts. She had a liver biopsy and was released on Friday – admitted into ICU on Sunday due to internal bleeding. Diagnosis of liver cancer on Monday, another call on Tuesday saying “cancer is everywhere” then a call on Wednesday saying she had days to live. My Dad was already on his way and the rest of headed to Denver, 4 of us driving, thinking we had time. We didn’t. We were by Pittsburgh when we got the call she had passed away. Even if we had flown, we wouldn’t have made it – though my brother in Dallas and my Dad did, thank God. Longest, saddest car ride of my life.
This has put me in a melancholy mood – so, I had referenced in another post that I would share my story about smoking and today is probably the day to do it. But this is really long – if you make it to the end, I will be completely impressed! J
I grew up in a family with 6 siblings – 5 older and my twin and I are the babies (well, he will tell you he is the baby, since I am older.) Both my parents were heavy smokers – I spent a good deal of my childhood running to the drugstore for Silva Thins. Sometime in the 80’s my Dad did smoke-enders and quit for good, but not my Mom. As a teenager I tried a cig here and there and but was never a smoker. When I graduated HS, if I was out drinking and the guy I was dating was smoking, I’d have one or two – but nothing more than that. Out of 7 kids, 5 of us smoked at one point or another.
On August 20, 1989, I was 19, still living at home, but with my own phone line – I woke to my phone ringing at about 6 am. My sister and I were throwing a baby shower that day with some friends, one whose husband was a cop in town. Being the youngest, they were all joking that I wouldn’t get up that morning, so I thought she was calling to be funny. I pick up the phone and all she says is “How’s your Mom??” um….how’s my Mom? I last saw my Mom about 2 am – they been out with the neighbors, as usual, then played cards at our house – Mom had indigestion but seemed fine. Instant panic in my heart and all I could say was “What do you mean ‘How’s my Mom?’” and her response was “oh my god, you don’t know”. Instant hysterics on my part – it turns out my Mom had a massive heart attack in the middle of the night. My Dad being my Dad wouldn’t wait for an ambulance – he woke my sister to get her keys and drove Mom to the hospital (about 2 miles away). My sister L stayed up but she is the kind of person who never believes anything bad will happen – it didn’t occur to her that this might be serious, that Mom might die, so why wake anyone or call those that had to travel? Mom would be fine.
Mom wasn’t fine. She spent the next year in and out of the hospital. Her heart was no longer strong enough to work correctly. In July, 1990 we were told that her only chance was a heart transplant. She was 56 years old at the time. We were terrified – you did not hear as much about organ transplants as you do now. It was completely unknown territory for us.
On November 17, 1990 she was being released from Newark Beth Israel where she’d been for a few weeks, still waiting for a heart. There was nothing more they could do right then until a heart became available. My Dad and sister were on their way to pick her up when the phone rang at home – it was her Dr. A 16 year old boy had been shot in Newark and she was getting his heart (side note: from being so sick, my Mom was really tiny – 5 foot 4 and about 98 lbs. – a teenager’s heart was going to be a much better fit for her than a full grown adult). How to do you feel happy and relieved when a 16 year old boy was dead? At this point they start testing the heart for a match and they rate it – finally the Dr called back “it’s a 90% match, the operation is a go. Then he called back and said “by the way – could you bring me some film? I want to take pictures of the surgery!”
After picking up Dr. Z’s film, we filled a waiting room with about 30 people, played trivial pursuit, ate pizza and paced and prayed. 10 hours later my Mom came out of surgery, with color in her face for the first time in over a year. The surgery had been a huge success – and thank God, because her heart was so damaged it fell into pieces when they took it out.
After initially being scared and timid, life went on – Mon never smoked again after the heart attack, though she still craved it. Not the cig, or the nicotine at that point, but the habit, the ritual. But, thanks to that family that made such a courageous decision,, life went on - she went back to her part time job at the library, she traveled to Europe and even drove across the US with my Dad. She danced at my wedding in 1997 and was the first after us to hold my son in 2000.
The crappy part – this is when I BECAME a smoker. I socially smoked, but not all the time and it was never a big deal. If I smoked a total of 2 packs a year that was a lot. I met my future husband in his Dad’s bar in 1992 so I was in bars a lot and around more smokers. But in 1995 I took a job in a small office with a close-knit group of people that allowed smoking – and they all smoked. I was bumming one here and there, and finally started buying my own. That was all she wrote. It wasn’t long before I was a pack and a half a day smoker. Mike hated it and I refused to tell my Mom (being naïve enough to think she wouldn’t know). I can remember being on the deck at their house in my wedding dress, waiting to go to the church, crouching low and hiding so she wouldn’t see me. UGH. By 1998 I found out she did know – and she never lectured me. She knew that I knew better – she also knew how hard it is once it’s got a hold of you. But while everyone knows better, I REALLY knew better – I had watched my Mom fight for her life – how could I be a smoker?
For a long time, we were all prepared for my Mom to die. She was so close to death for so long that we were constantly afraid. It was when we finally let our guard down, and realized that she was really ok, that life hands you a sneak attack. In 2002 Mom had a cough that wouldn’t go away. It was hard to focus on for me, as my MIL was very ill. My MIL passed away suddenly in April, 2002 at the age of 57. (another heavy smoker but also an alcoholic). In May, 2002 we got the shock of our lives – 13 years after the heart attack, almost 12 years after the heart transplant – my Mom was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. (Her Dad and brother both died of lung cancer). Because she was on immune suppressant drugs due to the heart transplant, no one knew how she’d react to chemotherapy. She knew it would only buy her time, but she wanted to try. She had chemo in early June and by mid-June she was in MICU on and off life support. Her body just could not fight this and the chemo caused e-coli to seep from her stomach into her blood and she went into septic shock. The next 4 weeks were hell, too long to go into, but we eventually had to make the decision to stop treatment – she was never going to leave MICU. Mom passed away July 16, 2002 and my heart was forever broken. My son had lost both his Grandmother’s within 3 months’ time, right after his 2nd birthday. Both deaths were preventable.
My Mom once told me that after the heart attack and transplant, she kept herself going/fighting by giving herself goals “I have to live to see Kate graduate college” “I have to live to see Jen’s wedding day”. To this day I feel guilty, like we didn’t give her enough goals to make. I would have loved for her to live to see me now, as a non-smoker..
Yet then, I couldn’t stop smoking (only while pregnant). I have tried the patch, wellbutrin, the gum – you name it. My longest quit was for 4 months. My son, now 13, has been desperate for me to quit – as a Mom, disappointing my child has been my biggest regret. I have no doubts that as long as I can vape, I will never smoke again. This has been a life saver for me and I know I have finally not only made my son proud, but my Mom too. I still miss her desperately.
After my Mom died, we started a walk in her memory to support the transplant program where she had her surgery. To date, we have raised over $400,000 which goes to help the patients when there are lapses in insurance (their meds cost $3,000 a month) plus purchase much needed equipment. We work with the sharing network of NJ and all carry our organ donor cards.
My twin brother is the only one left in our family who still smokes. He is stubborn as they come so I won’t push him – but I pray that one day he will say “can I try your spinner?” and I’ll have a kit ready and waiting for him. It’s already here in my house. But, right now, he wants nothing to do with it and I can’t push him. I just wait and pray. Hopefully Mom will give him a nudge, and let him know it’s the right thing to do.
And that novel is my story – just one person’s story of what we’ve been through with smoking and why I am so unbelievably happy that vaping is an option.
Cheers,
Jen
My Mom, after the transplant
View attachment 199515
This has put me in a melancholy mood – so, I had referenced in another post that I would share my story about smoking and today is probably the day to do it. But this is really long – if you make it to the end, I will be completely impressed! J
I grew up in a family with 6 siblings – 5 older and my twin and I are the babies (well, he will tell you he is the baby, since I am older.) Both my parents were heavy smokers – I spent a good deal of my childhood running to the drugstore for Silva Thins. Sometime in the 80’s my Dad did smoke-enders and quit for good, but not my Mom. As a teenager I tried a cig here and there and but was never a smoker. When I graduated HS, if I was out drinking and the guy I was dating was smoking, I’d have one or two – but nothing more than that. Out of 7 kids, 5 of us smoked at one point or another.
On August 20, 1989, I was 19, still living at home, but with my own phone line – I woke to my phone ringing at about 6 am. My sister and I were throwing a baby shower that day with some friends, one whose husband was a cop in town. Being the youngest, they were all joking that I wouldn’t get up that morning, so I thought she was calling to be funny. I pick up the phone and all she says is “How’s your Mom??” um….how’s my Mom? I last saw my Mom about 2 am – they been out with the neighbors, as usual, then played cards at our house – Mom had indigestion but seemed fine. Instant panic in my heart and all I could say was “What do you mean ‘How’s my Mom?’” and her response was “oh my god, you don’t know”. Instant hysterics on my part – it turns out my Mom had a massive heart attack in the middle of the night. My Dad being my Dad wouldn’t wait for an ambulance – he woke my sister to get her keys and drove Mom to the hospital (about 2 miles away). My sister L stayed up but she is the kind of person who never believes anything bad will happen – it didn’t occur to her that this might be serious, that Mom might die, so why wake anyone or call those that had to travel? Mom would be fine.
Mom wasn’t fine. She spent the next year in and out of the hospital. Her heart was no longer strong enough to work correctly. In July, 1990 we were told that her only chance was a heart transplant. She was 56 years old at the time. We were terrified – you did not hear as much about organ transplants as you do now. It was completely unknown territory for us.
On November 17, 1990 she was being released from Newark Beth Israel where she’d been for a few weeks, still waiting for a heart. There was nothing more they could do right then until a heart became available. My Dad and sister were on their way to pick her up when the phone rang at home – it was her Dr. A 16 year old boy had been shot in Newark and she was getting his heart (side note: from being so sick, my Mom was really tiny – 5 foot 4 and about 98 lbs. – a teenager’s heart was going to be a much better fit for her than a full grown adult). How to do you feel happy and relieved when a 16 year old boy was dead? At this point they start testing the heart for a match and they rate it – finally the Dr called back “it’s a 90% match, the operation is a go. Then he called back and said “by the way – could you bring me some film? I want to take pictures of the surgery!”
After picking up Dr. Z’s film, we filled a waiting room with about 30 people, played trivial pursuit, ate pizza and paced and prayed. 10 hours later my Mom came out of surgery, with color in her face for the first time in over a year. The surgery had been a huge success – and thank God, because her heart was so damaged it fell into pieces when they took it out.
After initially being scared and timid, life went on – Mon never smoked again after the heart attack, though she still craved it. Not the cig, or the nicotine at that point, but the habit, the ritual. But, thanks to that family that made such a courageous decision,, life went on - she went back to her part time job at the library, she traveled to Europe and even drove across the US with my Dad. She danced at my wedding in 1997 and was the first after us to hold my son in 2000.
The crappy part – this is when I BECAME a smoker. I socially smoked, but not all the time and it was never a big deal. If I smoked a total of 2 packs a year that was a lot. I met my future husband in his Dad’s bar in 1992 so I was in bars a lot and around more smokers. But in 1995 I took a job in a small office with a close-knit group of people that allowed smoking – and they all smoked. I was bumming one here and there, and finally started buying my own. That was all she wrote. It wasn’t long before I was a pack and a half a day smoker. Mike hated it and I refused to tell my Mom (being naïve enough to think she wouldn’t know). I can remember being on the deck at their house in my wedding dress, waiting to go to the church, crouching low and hiding so she wouldn’t see me. UGH. By 1998 I found out she did know – and she never lectured me. She knew that I knew better – she also knew how hard it is once it’s got a hold of you. But while everyone knows better, I REALLY knew better – I had watched my Mom fight for her life – how could I be a smoker?
For a long time, we were all prepared for my Mom to die. She was so close to death for so long that we were constantly afraid. It was when we finally let our guard down, and realized that she was really ok, that life hands you a sneak attack. In 2002 Mom had a cough that wouldn’t go away. It was hard to focus on for me, as my MIL was very ill. My MIL passed away suddenly in April, 2002 at the age of 57. (another heavy smoker but also an alcoholic). In May, 2002 we got the shock of our lives – 13 years after the heart attack, almost 12 years after the heart transplant – my Mom was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. (Her Dad and brother both died of lung cancer). Because she was on immune suppressant drugs due to the heart transplant, no one knew how she’d react to chemotherapy. She knew it would only buy her time, but she wanted to try. She had chemo in early June and by mid-June she was in MICU on and off life support. Her body just could not fight this and the chemo caused e-coli to seep from her stomach into her blood and she went into septic shock. The next 4 weeks were hell, too long to go into, but we eventually had to make the decision to stop treatment – she was never going to leave MICU. Mom passed away July 16, 2002 and my heart was forever broken. My son had lost both his Grandmother’s within 3 months’ time, right after his 2nd birthday. Both deaths were preventable.
My Mom once told me that after the heart attack and transplant, she kept herself going/fighting by giving herself goals “I have to live to see Kate graduate college” “I have to live to see Jen’s wedding day”. To this day I feel guilty, like we didn’t give her enough goals to make. I would have loved for her to live to see me now, as a non-smoker..
Yet then, I couldn’t stop smoking (only while pregnant). I have tried the patch, wellbutrin, the gum – you name it. My longest quit was for 4 months. My son, now 13, has been desperate for me to quit – as a Mom, disappointing my child has been my biggest regret. I have no doubts that as long as I can vape, I will never smoke again. This has been a life saver for me and I know I have finally not only made my son proud, but my Mom too. I still miss her desperately.
After my Mom died, we started a walk in her memory to support the transplant program where she had her surgery. To date, we have raised over $400,000 which goes to help the patients when there are lapses in insurance (their meds cost $3,000 a month) plus purchase much needed equipment. We work with the sharing network of NJ and all carry our organ donor cards.
My twin brother is the only one left in our family who still smokes. He is stubborn as they come so I won’t push him – but I pray that one day he will say “can I try your spinner?” and I’ll have a kit ready and waiting for him. It’s already here in my house. But, right now, he wants nothing to do with it and I can’t push him. I just wait and pray. Hopefully Mom will give him a nudge, and let him know it’s the right thing to do.
And that novel is my story – just one person’s story of what we’ve been through with smoking and why I am so unbelievably happy that vaping is an option.
Cheers,
Jen
My Mom, after the transplant
View attachment 199515
